Never Alone
by RainbowCookie318
Summary: Fred's scavenger hunt from beyond the grave is the only thing keeping his brother alive. What will George find at the end?
1. Chapter 1

Fred was buried in the family cemetery. The Weasleys were an old pureblood family, so it made sense that they had their own cemetery, protected from Muggles.

George didn't attend the ceremony. Instead, he stayed in his room, staring at the wall. Fred was gone. He was gone, and he would never be coming back. Never again would George hear his voice, see his face, argue over how to run the shop with him.

A tiny, miniscule smile appeared on George's face as he remembered how, in this very room, he and his twin had started their work. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Now it would have to be Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It was odd how moving an apostrophe one letter to the left could make such a difference.

George stood up and walked to the full-length mirror. There stood Fred, reflected, smiling slightly, his white teeth showing just a bit. He raised a hand, beckoning to his brother—

But no. It wasn't Fred. It was George himself. Fred never would have worn such an ugly shirt. He never would have stood like that, weight shifted to one side, an almost feminine stance. Fred never would have stopped smiling, and George knew that it was himself he saw in the mirror because he wasn't smiling anymore.

They had done everything together. Always, Fred and George, Gred and Forge. They'd never been separated for more than a few hours, and it had been days.

George couldn't stand being alone. He'd never noticed before his dependence on having someone at his side twenty-four hours a day, a brother with a smart remark, or a new idea for the joke shop, or even a gruff hug in the dead of night when the pain of fighting the war became too much.

A brother. A twin. Everything, together, always, forever, together. Never alone.

They would do this together, too. Fred would be waiting. It wouldn't be hard.

The smile returned to George's face as he spun around and grabbed his wand. Turning back to the mirror, he remembered hearing somewhere that to perform an Unforgivable Curse, one has to truly mean it.

A thump, voices from downstairs. Footsteps, coming up to check on George.

He turned back to the mirror and nodded at his twin. Raising his wand, he placed the tip of it at his temple. The door to his room burst open. A shout, rushing footsteps.

"_Avada K—_"


	2. Chapter 2

**I had hoped that someone would realize that I cut off the incantation at the end because George ****didn't**** succeed. I've changed my mind. This shall be a proper story, not a one-shot. Hope that doesn't ruin it for anyone. Anyway, here it is.**

"_Avada K—_"

"_George!_" George's head hit the floorboards with a thump as Ginny tackled him. His wand flew out of his hand to clatter on the floor.

"George! Oh god, is he--?" His mother's fearful voice permeated the dead air of the bedroom, and George roughly shoved his sister off of him and sat up. He had failed.

"Are you mad?" Ginny yelled indignantly. Tears flew from her eyes to land on his hands as she spun about and ran past Molly out of the room. George stared after her, a bit dazed, as his mother flung herself at him.

He sat there staring after Ginny, slightly catatonic, as Molly lamented over him. She was saying something about how they should have thought of George more, not just Fred. They should have left someone to stay with George. They should have, should have, should have—

He shoved himself to his feet, knocking Molly aside. He picked up his wand and slammed out of the room, leaving her weeping on the floor.

Ginny's door was shut, and George was glad he wouldn't have to face her. To his regret, however, his father and brothers were in the kitchen, talking in low voices. They fell silent when he came in and looked away from him.

George looked at himself as if from the outside then. He stood in the doorway. His family was on the other side of the large table, eyes averted. A few days ago, Fred would have been standing with him. Fred and George, against the world. Now it was just him. Fred was gone. He had faced the world and lost.

Very slowly, George walked past his brothers and out the kitchen door. The garden was silent and still but for the rustlings of a few gnomes. Looking at them, George reflected that, were his brother there, they would probably have flung a few gnomes, for fun. George decided then that he would never de-gnome another garden.

He walked out of the garden, making sure to latch the gate behind him. The land behind the Burrow was wild, untamed, and Fred and George had spent many, many hours out there, working, messing about, laughing, talking.

George's feet took him almost automatically to the small stream that meandered through the hills. He followed it as if Imperiused. It led him past copses and fields to a small cave. That tiny smile returned to George's face as he stepped inside the cave.

A flick of his wand lit tiny, hidden lights in the ceiling. The back of the cave was covered in drawings and charts, tacked up with magic.

George hadn't been to the cave in months. It had been the twins' base of operations before they had gotten the shop and after they had stopped using their room for fear of Molly finding out.

He lit the tip of his wand and examined the papers that covered the back wall. Almost childish drawings, designs for things he knew now would never work.

But wait—what was that? A paper, luridly purple, nearly hidden behind a chart listing ideas for Skiving Snackboxes. He reached his hand out and lifted the chart away. He had never seen the purple page before, not that he remembered.

He ripped it off the wall and held it up.

"George," it read. "This is stupid. I mean, it's stupid for me to be writing you a farewell note. As if either of us is really going to die in this fight. Well, anyway, I thought, you know, better to write and be safe. If I live, you'll never see this anyway. What I wanted to say is I love you. Like, brotherly and such. I don't think I've told you that in a year or two. But I do. Can't imagine living without you. If you're reading this, well, then, you probably know. Sorry about that. I didn't mean to die. So, anyway, I want you to look up KATERIN MALEKAI. Just do it—don't give me that look. So, anyway, you'll probably never read this, but, just in case. Love you, brother. –Fred"

George read and reread the letter. He traced the letters with a finger and stared at his brother's messy signature. Fred's handwriting had always been messier than George's.

A footstep. George's head snapped up, his wand at the ready. Only then did he realize that he was crouching, holding the letter to his breast, teeth clenched, hands shaking. When his wandlight illuminated Charlie, he stood, pressing his back to the wall.

Charlie took a step inside the cave, looking around. "I'm not going to attack you," he pointed out. George slowly lowered his wand.

"What?" George growled.

"I talked to Mum, and, to be frank, I don't want you alone." Charlie had always been blunt and to the point.

"I'm not a child," George said. He tucked the letter into a pocket and stepped away from the wall. "Nox."

"I realize that," Charlie said with a sigh. "Come on home."

George nodded tightly and followed his brother out of the cave. When he stepped out of it, he halted, turning around to look at the entrance.

Ignoring Charlie's stare, he raised his wand and flicked it twice, as if he were tapping a drum. His nonverbal spell caused the earth above the cave to tremble, and then crash down in front of the cave. No one would ever enter it again.

George turned around and followed Charlie home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot (applies to all chapters).**

**A/N: Forgot my disclaimer. It's weird to use the word "flat". I'm American. We say "apartment". Are those two words interchangeable..? Just read the damn thing.**

George very carefully avoided Ginny's eyes. She was glaring at him all through dinner, eyes red. George stared at his plate without touching it until Molly cleared it away silently.

One by one, the Weasleys left the table until George and Ginny were left. George finally levered himself to his feet, but Ginny snapped, "Stop right there, mister."

Slowly he turned to face her. Her hair hung like a flaming curtain of righteous anger around her face.

"Sit your arse down," she ordered. "Mum says you're to stay with someone from now on."

George looked at her blankly. He was to stay with someone? What, was he a child? There was absolutely no way he was going to be babysat by his little sister.

"I'm going to the shop," he said.

"Then I'm going as well," she said, standing up so hard her chair fell to the floor with a bang.

"Bloody hell," George murmured. "I'll give you a galleon to stay here."

"Nothing doing," she snapped. "Let's go. Floo or Apparation?"

"...Apparation," George said irritably. "You have to stay out of my way while I work."

"Sure thing," Ginny growled. "So long as you don't try to off yourself again."

George decided to ignore that remark. He held out his arm. Ginny walked around the table and took a tight grip on his wrist. Stepping forward, they spun. George closed his eyes tightly, reveling in the fact that he was feeling something.

When they landed, Ginny stumbled; George caught her arm. She got her feet and shook him off.

They had landed in the flat above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, in Fred's bedroom. George hurried out, averting his eyes from Fred's belongings. Ginny followed him.

No one would expect the twins to have a library above their shop, but there was one between the two bedrooms. Still in the making, it was not so expansive, but it was formidable. Ginny gasped when she entered behind her brother, and that smile returned to George's face as he gazed at his collection of knowledge.

It was imperative to have a library for the running of a joke shop. There were potions to look up, spells, histories, mythology... George even had a small shelf dedicated to Muggle books; unlike his brother, he read sometimes simply for the fun of it.

"Help yourself," George told Ginny softly. She immediately headed for the Potions section, but stopped and glanced back at George wistfully. "I'm not going to kill myself," he told her. "If I decide to, I'll let you know."

She gave him a small, trembling smile and disappeared behind the shelf. George sighed and went to the history section.

He chose several books and sat himself down. He flipped through the index of each one looking for the name Katerin Malekai. He wondered briefly why Fred had wanted him to look up this person, but shook off the thought. If Fred had an after-death request, who was George to contest it?

Finally, in a book labeled _Ancient Symbols and Rites,_ he came across the name in the index. Eagerly, he picked the book up and flipped to the page about Katerin.

As he opened to the correct page, a slip of paper fluttered out onto his lap. Sitting the book down, he picked it up.

"George," it said. "Good job. I knew you'd never open this book unless I told you to, and you would be quite right not to—Katerin Malekai's just the old bat who invented the Swelling Solution. I'm sorry to be so cryptic about it, but there's something else I need you to do. You're going to have to find our arch enemy and ask him about the Rose-Colored Punch Bowl. Again, don't ask why. Just do it, and stop glaring at me. Oh, and I forgot—tell Ginny I love her too, and Mum. Love you, brother. –Fred."

George continued glaring at the paper. What was this, some scavenger hunt from beyond the grave? He made an indignant noise, but folded the note and put it next to the first one.

Standing, he began to pace. Who was their arch enemy? A Death Eater? No... Fred wouldn't tell him to ask a Death Eater about a _punch bowl_.

Who else, who else...?

George walked to the shelf and gently banged his head on it. The motion helped him think.

"Epiphany!" he shouted suddenly. Ginny came hurtling around the corner of the far shelf, wand out and pointed at him.

"What?" she yelled. "What did you—What's going on, George?"

"I've got it!" he said loudly, batting her wand away from his face. "Filch!"

She lowered her arm in confusion, looking at him as if he were mad. "Filch?"

"Filch was our arch enemy," George said, feeling more excited than he'd been in days. "I have to go to Hogwarts."

"What, now?" Ginny asked incredulously as he walked past her and out the door.

"Well, I should probably tell Mum I'm alright," he said. "C'mon, Gin."

She followed, still a little bewildered, and they Apparated back to the Burrow.

"George, Ginny!" George's breath was knocked out of him as he was smothered by his mother. "I thought George had killed you and himself!" she yelled at Ginny, who was also trapped under her fierce hug.

"Get off, Mum!" she and George yelled at the same time. Molly obliged and stood, hands on hips, glaring at George as he got to his feet and held out a hand to Ginny.

"Where have you been?" Molly shrieked.

"We just went to the shop," Ginny said. "I wanted to see—" she glanced at George. "Mum, let's go into the kitchen, let George have a sit down." George stared incredulously as she took Molly by the arm and steered her into the other room.

George followed. Sticking his head into the kitchen, he said, "Mum, Ginny, Fred loves you." Ignoring their shocked expressions, he returned to the other room.

He collapsed onto the sofa with a sigh. The excitement that had filled him was gone. He watched as the rising sun lit the curtains a bit, and he realized he'd stayed up all night.

Closing his eyes, he tucked his hands behind his head and slept.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers. I dedicate this chapter to SerenityintheBlack for giving me my first flame ever! I'll treasure it. Also, if anyone likes my writing and would be interested in reading my original work, try this: www (dot) johnna-aikia-emonds (dot) blogspot (dot) com.**** Tell your friends.**

When George woke up, he was covered in a woolen blanket and he felt horrible. There was a hollow ache in his chest that he knew wouldn't be filled with food or laughter.

Keeping his eyes closed, he silently begged to hear his twin's voice shouting from the other room or to feel Fred yank the blanket off in an attempt to annoy him.

With a sigh, he opened his eyes and tossed the blanket aside. From the light outside, it was around noon. He shuffled into the kitchen, yawning, to find Molly busily cooking. She looked at him and smiled, her cheerful grin belying the worry in her eyes.

"You slept late," she remarked. "Have a seat, and I'll make you a plate." George sat down, deciding to ignore the fact that Molly would have berated him for sleeping in had Fred been alive.

"I'm going to Hogwarts," George said when Molly turned around. She frowned a little as she sat his plate down.

"So soon after—what happened?" she asked. "They're still doing repairs."

"There's someone I've got to see, Mum," he said. When she said nothing, he turned to his plate and ate as much as he could stomach.

When he took his plate to the sink, Molly said, without looking at him, "Take Charlie, would you? He won't mind going, and I'm sure he'd like to see Hagrid."

George paused. He knew that Molly still didn't want him alone. "Alright, then," he conceded.

He went upstairs and changed his clothes, tucking his wand inside his robes. Leaving the room, he called, "Charlie!"

Charlie appeared beside him with a tiny pop. "What's wrong?" he said, looking slightly alarmed.

"Care for a trip to Hogwarts?"

Charlie stared at him for a moment. "Hogwarts?"

"Yes, there's someone I've got to see," George said. "Thought you might like to see Hagrid, visit Dumbledore's grave, y'know." George wondered why they were all skirting around the fact that none of them trusted George alone anymore.

"Sure, George," Charlie said. "C'mon."

They descended the stairs and entered the kitchen; Charlie hugged Molly, and they Apparated.

Hogsmeade was alive with joy and laughter. George was overwhelmed by the crowds. Everyone seemed to be smiling and celebrating.

Charlie led the way up to Hogwarts, wending his way through the crowd. George kept close to his brother's shoulder, and soon they were passing into the school.

George looked up at the castle tentatively. It was in this place that his brother had perished. How could George enter it?

But enter it he did. Everywhere, house elves, wizards, and witches worked, repairing walls and floors, mending paintings, clearing away stains of blood and worse things.

"I'm going to see if I can help," Charlie said. "Meet me back here in an hour. If you're not back, I'll assume you've killed yourself."

"Sure thing," George said grumpily. He was never going to live that momentary lapse in judgment down.

He set off through the castle, trying to avoid people. It was difficult; it seemed like the entire wizarding community had volunteered to help fix Hogwarts up. George fingered the hole in the side of his head uneasily as people stared at him in pity and shock.

On the third floor, he heard suspicious giggling coming from an empty room to his right. Looking inside, he saw Peeves fiddling with the legs of the teacher's desk.

"Making trouble as usual, then?" George asked, leaning casually against the doorframe. Peeves spun around and cackled.

"It's a half-boy!" he shouted. "Half-boy, where's your other half?!"

George had been expecting it. Coming from Peeves, it didn't bother him. "Dead," he remarked casually. "I'm looking for Filch. Seen him?"

"Filch," giggled Peeves. "What're you going to give me if I give you Filch?"

George thought for a moment. "Well, I could always tell you how to get into the headmaster's office," he suggested.

Peeves' eyes bulged. "Can do, young sir," he said in the tone he normally reserved for the Bloody Baron. "How do I get in?"

"First tell me where Filch is," George said.

"Fourth floor, broom cupboard," Peeves said promptly. "Locked him in."

"Thanks," George said. "To get into the headmaster's office, tell the gargoyles outside you're his mother."

"Will it really work?" Peeves asked incredulously.

"Try it," George suggested. Peeves cackled and swooped from the room.

George hurried to the fourth floor before Peeves could discover his lie. Checking every door, he finally found one that was locked; ominous banging sounded from behind it.

Leaning up against the door, George said, "Fi-ilch," in a sing-song voice.

"Who's there?" Filch said, panicking slightly.

"A friend," George said. "Here's the deal. I'll let you out of there if you help me out."

"Let me out, you sneaking--!"

"Now, now," George said, clicking his tongue. "That's no way to escape."

Filch paused. "What do you want?"

"The Rose-Colored Punch Bowl," George told him. "You have to take me to it."

"Can do," Filch said. "Let me out!" George turned around and unlocked the door with his wand. Filch tumbled out; mops and brooms clattered to the floor. "You!" he said, eyes popping with rage.

"Me," George said calmly. "Take me, then."

Filch glared at him with one beady eye and then began walking. Mrs. Norris appeared out of nowhere and twined around his ankles.

The caretaker led George up a tower. He was wheezing by the time he pointed to a large picture on one of the landings and said, "The Rose-Colored Punch Bowl. One of the only paintings to survive the battle."

"Much obliged," George said. Filch shambled away down the stairs, grumbling to his cat. George walked over to the painting. It was indeed, a painting of a Rose-Colored Punch Bowl, a simple affair filled to the brim with red punch.

George poked it with his wand. Nothing happened. Scratching his head, he murmured a few incantations at it. Nothing worked.

With a sigh, he tucked his wand away. Reaching up, he lifted the picture down off the wall.

A paper fluttered down to the floor. Leaning the painting of the Rose-Colored Punch Bowl against the wall, he picked up the paper.

"George," it read. "Clever. I knew you wouldn't remember the Rose-Colored Punch Bowl on your own. Sorry again, but the painting doesn't have anything to do with anything. You're going to have to do another little task for me. This time, I want you to ask Sirius about the Candle of Passion. Yes, that's right, ask Sirius. Sirius Black. Come on. You know you can figure this one out. It's easy! Send my love to Ron and Percy—yes, that's right, Percy! Love you, brother. –Fred."

George sighed in frustration. How long had Fred taken setting this all up? Months?

He replaced the painting on the wall. By the time he had done that and tucked the third letter away, an hour had passed.

"Bugger," he growled to himself. Charlie was going to think he had offed himself. With another sigh, he hurtled down the tower stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers. This chapter goes out to ****Kookies 'n Kreem. Your review made me laugh out loud. Twice. Again, for my original work, go to www (dot) johnna-aikia-emonds (dot) blogspot (dot) com. **

George stared at the wall as Molly talked at him. He wasn't sure what she was talking about, but it had something to do with the joke shop.

"Mum," he said when she stopped for a breath. "I'm going out."

"Where now?" she asked, exasperated, pausing in her knitting.

"Grimmauld Place."

"What, you want to see Harry?" she said, brightening. "That's a wonderful idea! I bet Ginny would like to go, as well. Ginny!"

"Mum—" George began to protest, but Ginny thumped down the stairs.

"What, Mum?" she said irritably.

"Get dressed," Molly said. "George is taking you to see Harry!" Ginny let out a little shriek and raced back up the stairs. Moments later she was downstairs, grinning and ready to go.

"That shirt's too revealing," George grumbled. "Go up and change."

"Nothing doing," she snapped. "I'll wear what I please. Let's go. Bye, Mum!" With a sigh, George followed her into the kitchen. She grabbed his wrist and stepped forward. George had the uncomfortable feeling of being Apparated for.

Due to Ginny's inexperience in Apparating, they landed down the block from Grimmauld Place. George sighed, but led the way to Grimmauld Place silently.

The magical protections had been taken off once all of the Death Eaters had been rounded up. George knocked on the door. It was flung open almost immediately by Harry. He shoved George aside and grabbed Ginny, kissing her fiercely.

"Oi," George said. "Do you have to--? Never mind. I'm going into your house, Harry..." When neither of them looked like they were going to separate anytime soon, George shook his head and walked inside the house.

He stepped quietly so as not to wake any of the portraits. To his surprise, however, Grimmauld Place seemed... Lighter. Friendlier. Bright light and soft music spilled out of the kitchen; it was tempting to go in and sit down and relax, but George had a task to do.

He went upstairs. He wasn't sure why Fred had told him to ask a dead man about a candle, but he supposed that maybe he could find the candle in Sirius's room or something. He went all the way up to the third floor and tentatively pushed the door of the bedroom open.

The room was musty and messy. The floor was littered with papers. George began searching through drawers. He found no candle. Frustrated, he sat down on the bed, resting his chin on his fist.

"Hey."

George jumped and looked around. He was alone in the room. Reaching into his robes, he slowly pulled out his wand.

"Down here, dummy!" He leapt to his feet and spun about. Protruding from under the bed was the edge of a picture frame. Cautiously, George knelt and tugged it out.

It was a portrait of a young Sirius and his brother. They stood apart, as if they had been forced to stand for a portrait.

"Took you long enough," the picture Sirius snorted. "Your twin's dead, then?"

Hearing that from Sirius—even a portrait of him—was not the same as hearing it from Peeves. George felt as if he had been kicked in between his legs. Pain so potent it was nearly physical swept through him. He told himself it was just a portrait, but it didn't help.

"Yeah, he's dead," he growled. "The Candle of Passion. C'mon, where is it?" It was obvious now that this was the Sirius George was meant to ask.

"Where's your manners?" piped up little Regulus. "That's a Black you're speaking to, that is!"

"Hush," Sirius ordered, cuffing his brother on the side of the head. Regulus glared. "The Candle of Passion is downstairs. The study. Look in the drawer of the desk."

"Yeah," George said. "Sure thing." Feeling decidedly depressed, George trudged to the study and opened the drawer. The Candle was a simple silver pillar candle. He took it out and stared at it for a long moment. Without really thinking about it, he prodded the wick with his wand; it lit.

George stepped back as smoke curled up into the air. It didn't dissipate. Instead, it writhed around until it formed words.

"Dear George," the smoke read. "Clever little trick with the smoke, huh? Anyway, good work finding Sirius. I knew you'd look upstairs. So what I need you to do now is to borrow Hermione's copy of _Hogwarts, A History_. It must be her copy. Then read chapter seven, alright? Love to Bill and Charlie. Love you, brother. –Fred."

As soon as George stopped reading, the smoke blew apart and the Candle of Passion went out. He stood staring into the empty air for a moment before going into the kitchen. Harry and Ginny were holding hands across the table and talking.

"Where can I find Hermione?" George interrupted.

"She and Ron went to stay with Bill and Fleur for a while," Harry said. "They'll be moving in together as soon as they get the money."

"Thanks," George said. "Ginny, time to go."

"We just got here!" Ginny protested.

"I'll just go alone, then," George said. Ginny scowled and turned to Harry.

"I have to go," she told him. She made sure to keep George waiting as she and Harry snogged a bit more, and then she followed her brother outside.

"George," she said. "Why have you been visiting all these places lately? The shop, Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place... It's like you're looking for something."

George looked up at the sky. Trust Ginny to figure out that he was up to something. "I am looking, Gin." The pain Sirius's words had caused earlier returned, George's voice was strained when he added, "I think I'll always be looking."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers. This one goes out to littlegreenweirdo123 for catching something that might have ruined the whole story. I'm keeping your review in mind as I write. Thanks.**

George glared a little at Percy, who strode briskly next to him up to the house by the sea. Pompous as ever, Percy was smiling and talking nervously, as though he was afraid George would commit a murder/suicide right there.

Just before they went up to the door, George stopped. Without meeting his brother's eye, he said, "Fred said to tell you he loves you."

Percy stopped and looked at George incredulously for a moment before saying, "He... He did?"

"Yeah, and I dunno why, the git," George snapped. He shoved past Percy and rang the bell.

Fleur flung the door open with a smile. "George! Percy! Eet ees so good to see vou! Come in!" George entered and went into the kitchen, where he could see Bill and Ron at the table. He joined them, sitting down tentatively. Bill gave him a half-hearted smile.

"Fred says he loves you both," George growled. It was weird giving out these love messages to his whole family. Everyone always looked at him oddly; Bill and Ron were not exceptions.

"Tell him we love him too...?" Ron said hesitantly.

"I can't, you great git, he's dead," snapped George. He shoved himself away from the table in disgust. "Where's Hermione?"

"Upstairs," Bill said, glaring at Ron. George turned around and stomped up the stairs. He knocked on the door of the guest bedroom. Hermione's voice called, "C'min!" George pushed the door open slowly.

Hermione was sitting on the bed, head bent over a small book written in ancient runes. She didn't look up until George said, "I need a favor."

"George!" she said, her head snapping up. "How—How are you?"

"Dandy," he retorted. "Can I borrow—"

"Hogwarts, A History, yes, I've got it here." She reached over and picked it up from the bedside table, offering it to him.

"How did you know that's what I was here to get?" George said suspiciously, taking it from her. She blushed deeply and muttered about precognition. George shook his head irritably and flipped to chapter seven.

There was no note.

"What the hell?" he muttered. "Hermione, was there a paper in here? At any point?"

"No..." she said slowly. "But... Fred did borrow it and he did some sort of spell on it."

George sighed. Was it just his imagination, or was this whole scavenger hunt thing getting more difficult?

He sat down on the bed next to Hermione. Embarrassedly, he muttered to her, "Hermy, would you help me...?"

"Only if you promise never to call me that again," she said. She took the book from him and prodded it a few times with her wand. It took only moments before certain words on page 407 began changing color. "There, the message is just the purple words," she said, handing him the book.

George took it. "George," it read. "You got Hermione to figure this one out, huh? Don't worry. I knew you would. So, next. Talk to Loony. Ask her about the femur of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Send love to Dad and... If you meet Angelina anytime soon, tell her I love her, okay? Love you, brother. –Fred."

George sighed and handed the book back to Hermione. "Thanks." He stood to leave.

"Wait!" Hermione said, tossing the book onto the bed. George turned to face her and was surprised when she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "Everything will be okay, George. It may not seem so now, but I promise that someday everything will be alright." She moved away from him to look out the window. George thought he saw a sparkle of tears on her cheeks before he left the room.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Yes, I took a long time on this chapter. I got a little stuck. I'm really looking forward to writing the next chapter... It's going to be a fun little thing. **

**A/N2: PEOPLE! If you favorite my story or put it on story alert, please leave a review, even if it's, "yay" or "hi" or something like that. C'mon, people... Be courteous.**

The sky was slate grey. Thunder grumbled in the distance as George trudged up the path to Luna's house. Tiny drops spattered on his hands and cheeks.

She was waiting for him when he arrived, and she let him in silently. He stood awkwardly in the curved kitchen. Luna stared at him, eyes wide, hands limp at her sides.

George sighed. He could hardly believe that Fred was actually going to require that he say it. "Luna..." he mumbled, a pink tinge creeping into his cheeks. "What can you tell me about... the femur of a crumple Horned Snorkack?"

"I have one," she said. "Would you like for me to get it for you, George?"

George sighed, rubbing his forehead with his knuckles. "Yes, please."

"You can just wait here, then," she said. She disappeared up the spiral stairs that stood in the middle of the kitchen. George helped himself to a seat and looked around, examining the colorful painted markings that covered the room.

Luna returned quickly, floating a gigantic bone down the stairs in front of her. George jumped to his feet, gaping at her.

"This is it," she trilled happily, lowering the femur onto the kitchen table carefully. She ran a fond hand along its length. "Dad found it while searching for live Snorkacks. Isn't it gorgeous?"

"What're these markings, here?" George asked, examining the bone. Indeed, spiky runes ran down the length of it, strange and old-looking.

"Ancient runes," Luna said. "Would you like me to translate?"

"Yeah," George said. Luna stepped back and cleared her throat.

"_Where the Delectable Doa tree grows_

_Behind wind and water, rushing crows_

_So long as you simply go where it goes_

_You'll find what you need to know_."

Luna stared at him expectantly. She seemed to know exactly what was going on here. George, however, was lost. "Luna," he said slowly. "Do you--?"

"Yes," she interrupted. "The Doa tree is an ancient tree that's eluded seekers for decades. You see, it disappears whenever anyone gets a glimpse of it. I think, however, that it's migrated very close to here recently. I've been tracking it!"

"...You've been tracking... a tree," George stated, just to make sure he had heard her correctly.

Luna nodded. "That's right! I think tonight's the night. You arrived just in time. Would you like to accompany me in my search?"

"I hate you," he muttered under his breath to Fred. To Luna he said, "I would love to accompany you." Luna beamed as if he had just given her a fistful of gold or—more probably, in her case—a live Snorkack.

"Great!" she said loudly. "We can leave right now! _Accio bag!_" Her schoolbag flew down the stairs. George caught it and handed it to her. "Thank you, George," she said. "Shall we?" she motioned to the back door. George opened it and held it as she walked out, grinning.

She led the way into the forest behind her rook-shaped house. George slunk after her, eyeing the trees suspiciously. He made sure his wand was easily accessible.

Luna walked quickly until they came to a clearing, through which a stream ran.

"This is where I left off last time," she whispered. "Let's see... We're looking for left-behind roots, leaves that don't belong, disturbed... yes, there." She pointed to a spot in the middle of the clearing and trotted towards it.

"What is it?" George asked, coming to stand beside her. A large circle of leaves rested there; there were no trees close enough to have shed leaves in that particular spot. The soil looked as if it had been sifted.

Luna turned towards him and tapped him on the top of his head with her wand, then did the same to herself. George shivered and watched her blend like a chameleon into the forest. She had Disillusioned them.

She took his hand and led him silently through the forest. He followed, growing more and more impatient.

Suddenly Luna let go of his hand. He couldn't see what she was doing, but he heard scuffles, growls, and panting. Then, to his amazement, she appeared, holding a tree.

The tree was only slightly taller than Luna and it stood on roots. It struggled madly, trying to escape, but Luna immobilized it with a nonverbal spell.

"The Doa tree," she whispered reverently. "After so long looking for it, I finally caught it." She turned to George. "You're good luck."

"Is there any sort of paper...?" George asked. Luna reached up into the Doa tree's leafy crown and pulled out a note, handing it to George. She went back to examining the tree-creature.

"George," it read. "Do you know how hard it was to track this tree down? You got Luna to get it, didn't you? Lazy. So next step. Go home and find out who hid Dad's first wand and where they hid it. Trust me, it'll be a harder task than finding the Doa tree. And no, it wasn't me. Anyway, you find the wand, you find the next clue. Tell Hermione and Harry I love them like extra siblings. Love you, brother. –Fred."

"Thanks, Luna," George said glumly. He turned and began making his way home.

This crazy chase was going nowhere, that was obvious. But George would continue until he found the end. He would continue because if he didn't, he would have no reason for living, and he had concluded that the whole point of this hunt was that Fred wanted him alive.

Thunder cracked, lightning flashed, and the sky opened up. Rainwater streamed down George's face like tears.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I'm so sorry I took so long with this chapter. Thank Poppy P for making me post at all. Poppy, thank you so much!!!! Your reviews made me continue with this ****and**** broke my writer's block! I owe you, definitely. And what site did you say you posted on? I didn't see a link... Oh well. You can 'pimp' my fic wherever you want. :D **

**I'm not sure this chapter's very good, but most of it was written when I had severe writer's block, so... Try to enjoy it.**

George looked up at the Burrow and sighed. So many people had had access to Arthur's old wand. George didn't know where to begin. He walked inside, recalling the happenings to his mind to see if there were any clues.

_The sun was shining that day. Fred and George were playing in the garden, teasing the gnomes. Ron and Ginny were chasing each other around the house. The three older boys were all getting ready to go to Hogwarts the next week. Percy was practically jumping up and down with excitement. It was his first year._

_Fred and George looked up in alarm when they heard a great shout. Molly was on the rampage again, it seemed, and the twins knew they were always prime suspects._

_"Our last transgression?" George asked his brother fearfully._

_"No way she could've found out so soon," Fred assured him. His nine year old's voice was more high-pitched than usual, though, and he added, "But we'd best get out of the way."_

_They had tried to run out the back gate, but Molly had immobilized them before they reached it._

_"You boys are in big trouble now!" she shrieked when she reached them. She lifted the spell and grabbed them by their ears, dragging them into the house. Depositing them on the couch, she held her wand threateningly and said, "Where is it?"_

_The twins looked at each other. "Mum," George said. "We... We're sorry. It's in the broom shed."_

_"What?" Molly yelled. "Arthur, check the broom shed! You boys are in so much trouble!"_

_"But, Mum, it's not a big deal," Fred protested._

_"Not a big deal?" she repeated loudly. "Stealing your father's first wand and putting it in the broom shed isn't a big DEAL?"_

_"What's this about a wand?" George asked. Just then Arthur came in, face red._

_"Molly, the only thing I found in the shed was the chicken. Where's my wand?"_

_Molly looked back to the twins. She always knew if they were lying. To the boys' relief, she saw that they were telling the truth; they knew nothing about the wand. _

_"Keep looking," she said to Arthur. "Boys, go on and finish playing."_

George couldn't think of a single thing that linked any of his brothers to that horrible crime. Arthur had always lamented the loss of his first wand. Despite thorough interrogations, Molly had never found out who had taken it.

When he stepped into the kitchen, George was surprised to find his whole family there. It was odd to see a room full of red hair without Harry's wild black or Hermione's bushy brown. He had even gotten used to Fleur's silky moonshine locks.

"George, come in," Arthur said, beckoning. "Tonight's family night. No guests."

George nodded and took a seat in between Percy and Ginny. Everyone took their time eating, and George fidgeted, waiting for them all to finish so he could get on with his questioning.

Percy finished first and stood up. "I'm going to get home," he announced. "Work first thing." He kissed Molly and left the room.

George jumped up and followed, ignoring Molly's stare. "Percy," he called. His brother spun around and said, "George?"

"I was wondering if we could have a talk," George said innocently. He slung an arm around Percy's shoulders and led him out the front door. Percy stared at him, but George didn't say a word until they were a good way away from the Burrow.

"What do you want, George?" Percy said, pulling away from George's arm. He put his hands n his hips and glared at his brother, shadows playing across his face. "Not going to pull some trick on me, are you?"

"I need information," George told him, glancing at him sidelong. "About a certain something that was lost just before you went to Hogwarts for the first time..."

Percy's face turned pale in a second flat. He looked around quickly and spoke in a whisper, "I told _him_, I know nothing about the—the _wand_. Only thing I saw that day was Bill sneaking into their room. Ask him! Not me. And don't set Mum on me again!" With that, he turned on the spot and disappeared with a small pop.

George sighed and returned to the house. Everyone was sitting in the living room, reading or working. Ginny bit her quill fiercely as she glared at some homework. Molly talked to Arthur as her knitting needles clicked in front of her. Charlie played chess with Ron. Bill was absent.

George backed out of the room before anyone noticed him. He slowly climbed the stairs, checking each floor, searching for Bill. He finally found him in the attic, sitting on an old dusty trunk and rifling through a photo album. His head popped up when George walked in. He looked away hurriedly, but not before George saw the sparkle of tears on his cheeks.

He walked over and placed a hand on Bill's shoulder. Looking down at the pictures, he found himself staring at a picture of he and Fred, waving from toy broomsticks. As he watched, he and his brother, tiny children, zoomed in and out of the frame.

"I know it's got to be worse for you," Bill said gruffly. "But everyone else misses him, too."

"I know," George said. Knowing each of his brothers intimately, he knew the best way to get information from each of them. With Bill, it would be honesty. Hesitantly, George told Bill the story of Fred's scavenger hunt. "And now," he finished. "I've been led to believe that you have information regarding the whereabouts of Dad's first wand."

Bill had sat staring throughout the whole tale. Now he sighed and looked away. "I saw the wand, true. But I wasn't the one who lost it."

"Why were you in Mum and Dad's room?" George asked softly.

"Oh, come on. All of us know why. We all did it." At George's blank look, Bill elaborated. "The Playwizard magazines Dad kept under the dresser."

"Oh, yes, those," George conceded. "Well, you said you saw the wand. Where?"

"It was lying on his bed, there for anyone to take," Bill informed him. "I did see Charlie going upstairs when I was going down. He might've gone into the room. Try talking to him."

"Thanks, Bill," George said. He stood and then, on a whim, bent down slightly and hugged his brother. Bill returned the embrace, and George left without meeting his eye again.

Charlie was still in the living room, playing chess with Ron. George entered, ignoring Molly's worried look. He sat down as if to watch the chess game.

Ron ignored him, concentrating on the piece. George knew he would not notice anything going on around him; it was safe to talk to Charlie as if they were alone.

"Charlie, I need to talk," George said. "About," he lowered his voice, "Dad's old wand."

Charlie's head snapped up, and he glared. "We never mention that," he whispered.

"You took it," George accused. The best way to get the truth out of Charlie was to be blunt and accusing.

"That I did," Charlie admitted. George started, surprised. That had been easy. "But I wasn't the one to lose it. I gave it to Ron to play with. Last time I saw it, he was running around chasing Ginny and trying to turn her into a peacock."

George turned to Ron. "Ron." His brother ignored him, intent on the chessboard. "Ickle Ronniekins, I need to talk to you..." George said in a playful voice. Ron glared at him and snapped, "What do you want?"

"Do you remember when Dad's first wand got lost?"

Ron shuddered, glancing behind George at Molly. "She caught me playing with it and smacked me around the head good. Last I saw, she had it."

George turned around and looked at Molly. She was scowling as she tugged at a knot in her yarn. He stood and went to her, taking the yarn out of her hands.

Sitting down on the floor by her chair, he made quick work of the knot, unraveling several feet of yarn and straightening it for her.

"Thank you, George," she said, sounding slightly surprised.

"Mum," he whispered. "Come down here." She bent low enough so he could whisper in her ear. "When was the last time you saw Dad's first wand?" He held his breath, waiting for her to explode like she did every time someone mentioned that incident. Instead, she glanced fearfully at Arthur and whispered back, "I gave it back to him after taking it from Ron. I thought he misplaced it or one of you boys took it, but... I saw him near the pond by the back gate last, and then he ran up to the house shrieking that it was gone. I have doubts about that day, Georgie. Now hush up talking about it."

George nodded a little and watched her knitting needles flash through the air. Memory flooded in again, and he let it.

_Fred and George were in the highest tree in the yard. They were playing at being monkeys. When Arthur walked up to the pond below the tree, they quieted and climbed down enough so that they could see him clearly. He had his wand in his hand. George thought there was something wrong with it, but he couldn't see clearly. _

_Something made Arthur look up just then._

_"Get out of that tree before you fall and break your necks," he said quietly, beckoning. The twins obeyed reluctantly. As they headed up to the house, George noticed a tear on Arthur's cheek. That shocked him so much that he kept his silence as he and his brother began playing with the gnomes._

Standing up, George walked into the kitchen and out the back door. The tree and the pond seemed smaller than they had when he was nine.

He crouched beside the pond and pulled out his own wand.

"Accio wand," he muttered. Just as he suspected, Arthur's old wand flew out of the murky depths and into his free hand.

It was snapped in half just like Ron's had been so many years ago. A single thread held it together. George, handling it carefully, took it back to the house.

The living room fell silent when he walked in and held up his father's wand. Arthur's eyes darted, and he seemed to shrink back into his chair.

"It broke, and you didn't want Mum to find out, so you tossed it in the pond," George said quietly, addressing his father. Molly whipped around to look at her husband.

"It's true!" Arthur sobbed. "My first wand, broken by some silly Muggle contraption falling on it! Oh, god! We couldn't afford to have it fixed. A new one was much cheaper. I didn't want you to be angry at my foolishness, Mollywobbles. I thought you'd tell me to get rid of my Muggle things again! I'm so sorry!"

"Oh, Arthur, dear, it's in the past," molly said. The children looked on in shock as she patted Arthur's arm. He stopped crying, though he sniffled a little.

"Reparo," George said, pointing his wand at the old one. It snapped back together, wobbled, and fell apart again. He frowned at it. "Fred said I'd get the next clue..."

"Oh my goodness," Arthur said. "George, come upstairs with me. I have something for you!" He practically leapt to his feet and went up the stairs. George followed.

In his room, Arthur reached under his bed and pulled out a small box. It was a simple affair of wood and had two slots on the front. "Your—Fred gave this to me, before..." Arthur began. "Anyway, he said to give it to whoever found my old wand." George took it and examined it.

It amazed him how similar his mind was to Fred's. he knew exactly what to do. Taking his father's wand from his pocket, he inserted the tip into one of the slots and the handle into the other. It would have been impossible to do had the wand not been snapped.

The box opened with a snap, revealing a letter inside. George took it out, dropped box and wand on the bed, and went to his room.

"George," the letter read. "This one was easy. Anyway, the end is near. There are only a couple more clues, and then you'll get your reward. Next clue: In Hogsmeade, look for the woman in the dragon mask. Once you find her, ask her about the pink Snitch. Love you, brother. –Fred."

George stared at the letter for a moment before tucking it away with the others. With a yawn, he realized that he was incredibly tired; he hadn't slept much lately. Without even turning out the light, he lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. Sleep swept over him, taking him to the land of dreams where Fred was still alive.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/n: Sorry it took so long. One more chapter and maybe and epilogue and then it's done. Thanks to all my lovely fans, especially Poppy.**

Sunlight crept across the floor. The line between light and dark slid closer and closer to George until finally it touched his face.

As if it was an alarm clock, his eyes sprang open. He put a hand up to shield himself from the light.

"Good m—" As his eyes fell to the empty bed beside him, his morning greeting, habit after so many years of sleeping in the room with another person, was cut off short. He felt a pang of loneliness in his chest and turned away from the other bed.

"What's cookin'?" he asked Molly when he entered the kitchen. She looked at him in surprise, then smiled.

"Good morning, George, dear," she said. She set a full plate in front of him. He found himself eating ravenously, finishing third helpings before he was finally done.

"What are you up to today, George?" Arthur asked. His eyes were red, as if he hadn't slept much. George supposed he was still bothered about his wand.

"Going to the shop," George replied, "Then going to Hogsmeade."

"What's in Hogsmeade?" Ginny piped up.

"I just have to meet someone," he said.

"Can I go with?" Charlie asked. "I need to go to Diagon Alley anyway, and I wanted to go to Honeydukes."

"And me," Ginny added. "I want to get out of the house for a while."

George looked around at them for a moment before conceding. "Be ready in fifteen minutes," he told them. "And meet me in the front yard." He left the table and went upstairs to get dressed.

Charlie and Ginny were waiting for him in front of the Burrow. He held out his arm to Ginny, and she took it with a small smile.

"Are you—are you feeling any better?" she asked him quietly. He looked into her eyes for a moment before sighing and turning away.

"Yeah. Thanks, Gin'." With no further ado, he Apparated.

The shop was busy that day. After the war, George had promoted one of his employees, Melissa, to manager and given her a key and run of the shop. When George arrived, she was ringing up a customer. George joined her behind the counter.

"How have things been?" he asked. She jumped and spun around at the sound of his voice.

"Mister Weasley!" she said in surprise. "I didn't expect to see you today! Everything is fine. Running smooth."

"Good. That's good," George said. He glanced around. Charlie and Ginny had left. "Let me work the register for a while, ok? Go take a break." Melissa smiled at him hesitantly and left with a small wave.

George lost himself in mindless chores for a few hours: counting money, straightening displays, and helping customers. Charlie and Ginny returned around one.

"Ready for Hogsmeade, then?" George asked them. They nodded and Apparated once more.

The celebrations had died down a bit in the days since the death of Voldemort, but there was still a smile on every face and cheer in every voice. George felt a bit queasy. How could these people be so happy when so many had given their lives in the war? And when so many, he added to himself, rubbing the side of his head, had been maimed?

Charlie and Ginny got caught up in the residual revelry. George waved them on when they headed for Honeydukes and he began to walk.

"Woman in a dragon mask," George murmured, working it out in his head. There were people in masks all around, still celebrating, but none were dragon masks.

He headed down a side street, hands in pockets, whistling a mournful little tune to himself. His spirits were oddly high with the promise of his "reward" after two more clues. He wondered what Fred had in store for him. Maybe it was a prosthetic ear.

Getting bored of walking on the street, he pushed open a random shop door and went in.

He found himself in a small used book store. There was a section of Muggle books, something that wasn't common in wizard stores. George wandered over and flipped through a novel called The Good Earth for a while before putting it down with a sigh. At his noise, a man's head popped around the side of the shelf from the back.

"Hello, sir," he said. He was young, with dirty blonde hair and a ready smile. "Anything I can help you find?"

What can I lose? George thought. "I'm looking for a woman in a dragon mask," he said tentatively.

The boy's face fell into a puzzled frown. "Um..."

George turned away. "Nevermind." He made to leave, but just as he touched the door, the boy said, "Hey, wait!"

George turned around. The young man rushed over holding a book. George took it.

On the cover was a picture of a tall, willowy woman in a silver gown, wearing a black dragon mask.

"What are the odds...?" George said in wonder. Seeing it, he had no doubt that this was the woman Fred had meant. "How much?"

"Well," the man said hesitantly. "It's been paid for."

"What?"

"Well, I just remembered... You came in here months back and paid for it, saying you might come pick it up." The boy scratched his head, staring at George oddly.

"Oh. Oh, yes. I remember now. Thank you." George nodded to him and left the shop.

The porch of the Shrieking Shack was empty, of course. George sat down on an old, rickety wooden chair there and opened the book.

He skimmed through the whole thing. It was called _For the Love of the Girl. _It was the story of a woman named Maria Sdao and how she fell in love and was betrayed. After skimming it, he went back and read it word for word, cover to cover. Enchanted by the charming character of Maria, he sighed wistfully at the end of the book.

Flipping back to the cover, he poked the woman, trying to get her to move. It was a Muggle book, however, and she simply stared at him from behind her mask.

He sighed irritably and flipped to the back of the book again. He was surprised to see something he hadn't noticed before: an address. When he realized that the house was in the village near the Burrow, he smiled a bit.

He left the Shrieking Shack to find his siblings.

When Ginny and Charlie were safely home, George took a stroll, _For the Love of the Girl_ in his pocket. He ignored the greetings of the local girls and found himself walking down a side street. Darkness was falling; he quickened his step.

When he reached the address in the book, he stopped. It was a simple little place, fit for one who lived alone or a young couple. George went up to the door and knocked thrice.

The door was opened almost immediately by a tall, grey woman. She had large, dark eyes and clutched a cat to her chest.

"Yes?" she said. She had an American accent. It was soft, wispy, and oddly comforting.

"Is this your book?" George asked tentatively, pulling out the book.

"Oh, you read that old thing, did you?" she said with a smile. "Yes, I am Maria Sdao. Please, come in." She stepped back and George followed her in, shutting the door behind him.

It was a Muggle house, swarming with cats. George stopped to pet them and found himself being licked, bitten gently, and clawed.

"Stop that, Mootsi," Maria admonished when one of the cat stood on her hind legs to pat George's hand. George picked her up, cuddling her. "What's your name, young man? Come into the kitchen."

"George Weasley," he answered, setting Mootsi down. Maria pointed him to a chair and brewed tea, not speaking until they were both seated and served.

"Now, what brings you here, George?" she asked, sipping her tea.

George was silent for a moment, but again, he had nothing to lose. "Are you a Muggle?"

She stared at him, face unreadable, for a full two minutes. Just when he was getting twitchy, she said, "I'm a Squib."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, blushing at his insensitivity.

"I've learnt to deal with it," she said dismissively.

"Then... Well, I came here to ask you about something," he told her. She nodded and he went on. "The... the pink Snitch. I was sent to ask about the pink Snitch."

She stood and cleared away the dishes hastily. Shoulders tense, she said, "How did you know? _How did you know about it_?"

"My brother told me," George said in alarm.

"You ain't havin' it, hear?" she said, accent thickening. "Y'all need to stay out of my garden, ya noisy kids! It's mine!" She was almost hysterical now. George did the only thing he could think of: he took her in a tight hug.

"Now there, Miss Maria," he said softly as she trembled. "I'm not here to take anything from you. I'm just here to get some information. You just calm yourself down." Slowly her shakes ceased until she stepped away.

"It's... It's my only... My father disowned me," she whispered. "The pink Snitch is the only thing left from your world that I've got. My only thing from childhood, my only..." She took a deep breath and walked out of the kitchen door, beckoning.

In the garden, she took a trowel and dug in the dirt below a flowering bush. A moment later, she stood holding a cloth bag. Taking his hand, she upended it over his palm.

A pink glass sphere fell out. Looking closely, George saw it was carved with the same symbols on a standard Snitch. The inside was cloudy.

Taking out his wand, George tapped it gently.

"George." George nearly dropped it as Fred's voice came out of it. "Almost at the end. The next and final clue: in our room, say the secret password, which is my favorite incantation. Tell Maria thanks. Fred."

George slowly put the pink Snitch back into its bag. Kneeling, he buried it under the bush for Maria.

"Thank you," he said slowly before leaving, body, mind, and spirit numb with the shock of hearing his beloved brother's voice once more.


	10. Chapter 10

George sat in his bedroom alone, for once. It was midnight, and his family was asleep. He held his wand loosely in his right hand, lost in thought. Fred's voice still rang in both his whole and his missing ear.

Fred's favorite incantation. He'd had many that he used often, hexes and prank spells, but his very favorite was one that only George would know or ever use.

"Amifratellora." A simple spell, it was something only a twin could use, meant to facilitate communicate no matter where the other was.

At first nothing happened. Then a wisp of purple fog puffed out of his wand, and another and another until the room was filled with lavender smoke. George, still sitting on the bed across from the mirror, could see nothing.

His heart didn't leap, nor was he surprised, when Fred's voice came to him: "My brother."

George stood up and went to the mirror, waving his wand to disperse the smoke there. His reflection looked back at him.

But then he realized it wasn't his reflection. He was not smiling, but the boy in the mirror was. The reflection also had two ears.

"Fred?" he asked.

"Yeah. It's me." Tears welled in George's eyes. He wanted to put out a hand to touch his twin but knew he would only strike glass.

"You're not a ghost?" George inquired through his grief. Ghosts were three dimensional, not creatures of the land of mirrors.

"No," Fred told him. "Just a reflection."

"I don't know how I can go on living without my brother," George told him.

"You won't have to," Fred said. "Close your eyes and put out your hand." George obeyed, stretching his left hand toward the mirror. Warm fingers clasped his own, and his eyes shot open in surprise. Fred held his hand tightly and pulled. He emerged from the mirror slowly, and George pulled as well, to help him. As he came out, his image merged with George, hands, then shoulders and faces and bodies melding together, becoming one. George closed his eyes again as his twin's voice reverberated through his mind: "You will never be alone."

George's eyes opened again. Fred's voice faded and George knew it wouldn't return, but the one-eared boy in the mirror was smiling.

**The End**


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